Perplexing Wonderland
by Ffion Eirlys
Summary: Gregory had never believed much in psychological disorders, but when he found the world suddenly upside down, he changed his mind. Damien had never believed much in humanity, but when Gregory came along, he decided that maybe it wasn't so bad.
1. Chapter I

Perplexing Wonderland

"He was part of my dream, of course - but then I was part of his dream, too."  
>— Lewis Carroll<p>

* * *

><p><span>Chapter One<span>

December 11th, Friday

The Park County High School locker halls were humid, wet, and cold, with puddles of dingy water and muddy footprints making the generic white and grey linoleum floor shine under the harsh fluorescent lighting. It was one of those less common wet and stormy Colorado days where instead of white, fluffy snowflakes falling, big alligator tear raindrops fell on the still slush covered fields and sidewalks, churning the remaining snow and sending swollen streams cascading down the street gutters. While younger students found almost complete and utter delight in splashing through the large puddles, the older students of the high school trudged unhappily to and from school, cringing every time the water soaked through their shoes. At 4:30pm, however, the school grounds were vacant of whining teenagers, instead dotted with the begrudging after-hour staff and the occasional small groups of students who had been assigned to after-school detention. There were, of course, exceptions to the rule.

Gregory Thorn, known for his constant blasé attitude and odd, unsocial companion, Christophe 'ze Mole' Delourne, was one such person. As he carefully evened the stack of essays he had been grammatically correcting for his English teacher, he looked out of the classroom window and glanced at his watch. The sky was that dark grey-blue of those peculiar rainy days that seemed to stay perpetually in a dim twilight, and thunder rolled heavily in the distance, the flashes of lightning lighting up an otherwise black horizon. His watch read 4:36, meaning he had an hour and a half to get to Harbucks and meet up with Christophe. He'd be almost an hour early if he left now, but this week had left him nearly no time to relax, and chocolate and coffee sounded right heavenly just then. He set the stack of papers on the corner of the teachers' desk, and turned toward the young woman bustling around the bookshelves in the far side of the room, but just as he had opened his mouth to speak, the telephone on the desk behind him rang. The woman looked up and quickly toddled past him and answered the white wall phone.

"Mrs. Potts room." She chirped into the receiver. Gregory took another sidelong glance at his watch. 4:38. "Oh really? I hadn't realized you needed that paper by Monday…." She said, flipping through a large stack of papers.

The blonde looked at Mrs. Potts, then at his watch, now reading 4:40. The woman was now searching frantically through the many stacks of papers around her, talking animatedly in her chittering way with no sign of hanging up anytime soon. Silently, Gregory made his way over to the front of the room, grabbing his thick overcoat and leather gloves from the front podium and slipping them on. He snatched up his black and red golf umbrella from the front of the room and stood next to the door, waiting patiently for Mrs. Potts to turn around. It would be impolite for him to walk out without her knowing he was leaving.

"No, he came in almost fifteen minutes late to class this morning, so I marked him as absent. No, I didn't tell him he could go to his locker. The first I saw of him was after that fifteen minutes into class when he comes waltzing in like he owns the place." Mrs. Potts huffed, pulling a folder out from under a particularly large stack of papers. She looked up at the door and smiled, waving Gregory off and nodding a thank-you. Gregory tipped his head in acknowledgement and slipped out into the hallway.

The door shut behind him with a metallic click, and Gregory was alone. The hall was empty, the faint echoes of janitorial work working their way through the building. Already, the lights were being shut off, the doors locked as the school closed its doors for the evening, as evidenced by the dark hallway to his left. The sound of his footsteps rebounded hollowly off of the white cement walls, echoing and doubling as he walked. The deep bass of a thunderclap reverberated through the building and through Gregory's very frame, more felt than heard. Shooting a look down the opposite hall, he managed to catch a glimpse of a janitor, dressed in corduroy blue and pushing a yellow cart of cleaning supplies. He turned into the senior locker halls, looking down at his watch as he did so, the hands reading 4:45. He looked up and down the hall, noticing with irritation someone standing in front of his locker. As if on queue, the person turned to look at him, irises a curious bright red. Gregory groaned mentally, recognizing him as Damien Thorne, Antichrist, dressed in his usual black. He had never known him personally, but through their many encounters over the years, they had dug themselves into a bitter stand off that Gregory doubted would be forgotten for this evening.

To Gregory's dismay, he found his predictions to be correct as Damien's lips turned slowly up into an arrogant smirk. He bit his tongue and continued forward, deciding that he wouldn't rise to any of the predictable taunts the damned boy was sure to throw at him, wanting only to grab his homework and leave. While he approached, Damien's eyes got wide in a sort of mocking innocence, irises clashing with the blue lockers, and gazed blatantly over the Brits' shoulder, as if expecting someone to round the corner. This, of course, made the coming taunt easily foreseeable, but nonetheless, Gregory dreaded it anyway, just as he dreaded the moment the ebon haired arse in front of him would open his mouth to speak. He stopped a few scant feet from him, attempting to wait patiently for his way to be cleared. Damien ignored him, and Gregory tapped his foot decisively against the linoleum to get his attention. He looked down at him from his four inch height advantage, smirked slyly and moved to lean against the locker adjacent to Gregory's, who stepped forward and began spinning in his combination on the built in lock.

"Where's that French little boy-toy of yours, Christophe?" Damien asked silkily, eyeing him keenly. Gregory pointedly ignored this comment, and swung his locker open with slightly more force than needed, regretting Damiens' position across from the hinges. From his peripheral vision, he saw the Damned youths' smirk grow slightly more sneering, slightly more smug. "Did the two of you have a little spat?" he crooned. "It's a little hard to imagine since I've heard you're quite good in bed…"

Gregory spun his head around at that, blue eyes flickering with barely contained anger. Damien merely stared back, smirking softly. "I'm not in the mood for this, Damien." he snapped, then turned back to his locker to grab his History and Economics textbooks.

The senior chuckled. "Oh, right, it's the other way around isn't it? I mean, when Powder tried to kiss you I remember you almost throwing up." He shrugged. The sound of the locker slamming shut cut off his next comment, and he blinked at Gregory, amused. "What's wrong? Hit a soft spot? Don't want to admit to your anxiety problem?"

"Shut up Damien." Gregory hissed, turning his heel to leave, stomach twisting sickeningly.

Damien pushed up off of the lockers and stepped forward in front of him. "Or are you just afraid of being close to people?" he asked, leaning forward. Gregory met his eyes, his own narrowing threateningly. All he wanted was to get to Harbucks and _relax_ for fuck's sake, and here was this arrogant git getting in his way. "Move." he growled.

"Why? Is it making you uncomfortable?" Damien answered, leaning a bit closer, eyes twinkling with amusement and smirk bordering a near smile. The bastard was _enjoying_ this, Gregory fumed. He took a step to the left and tried to move around when Damien said "In a hurry to go crying to Christophe?"

In that split moment, the stress of the previous week seemed all the more heavy, and Gregory spun and shoved him into the lockers as hard as he could. As he twisted around to bark back some horrible comeback, he saw Damien quickly put a hand in his jacket pocket, a worried expression on his face. Dumfounded, Gregory's retort died in his throat and he watched incredulously as the irritating twat carefully extracted a small, grey ball of fur from out of his pocket. Gregory blinked as the thing uncurled, wrapping a long black tail around Damien's hand, who looked nothing short of relieved. Staggered, the Englishman found most of his desire to pound the antichrist's face into the ground had been replaced by a strong urge to take a nap. Damien looked up at him with an expression that just dared him to comment. Gregory ignored it, shook his head, and turned away to leave. Damien looked away and stayed pleasantly silent, slipping the animal back into his pocket, looking almost embarrassed. Gregory left him there, walking decisively in the direction of the parking lot. As he walked away, he heard behind him the sound of Damien's receding footsteps, which made him feel better, since that meant he wasn't going to bother him anymore. The black windows to his left lit up and a deep gong of thunder rolled heavily in the air once more. He let out a heavy breath and put a hand to his head, noticing with slight irritation a growing pain deep in his skull. The hallway, bordered on one side by the blue lockers and the other by a white, windowed wall, seemed to briefly swim and he stumbled. He blinked quickly, startled, and the hall once again solidified. He stopped, heart racing, and he swallowed. Chalking the incident up to a prank by Damien, Gregory resumed his trek to the double doors at the end of the hall. The twat had probably wanted to get the message across that he wanted him to stay quiet about his little 'secret', he thought, though he really didn't care in the slightest. To his disoriented mind, the doors seemed farther away then he had previously thought, but after a few shaky more feet, he was at them, and out into the dark twilight. The rain was falling in heavy sheets, a roar that deafened his ears, and the strong wind threatened to knock him off his feet. An unexpected change of weather, but bearable. At least it doesn't have the same sting that snow tends to have, he wondered wryly, opening his umbrella. He huddled into it, holding it close and sloshing through the ankle high puddles. The rain churned the pools, making them glisten in the lackluster light that fell out of the heavily tinted school windows, and making swirls of spark-like water as the wind buffeted the sheets into the glow. By the time he reached his car, he was soaked up to his mid-calf and almost soaked everywhere else. Opening the door, he closed his umbrella while at the same time trying to stay as dry as possible, but soon realized his futility as the wind almost mockingly slapped him in the face with a particular gusty sheet of rain. He fell heavily onto the seat, slamming the door after him and shaking the wet tips of his hair out of his eyes. No doubt the curl in it would come out with a vengeance once it dried, but all he really wanted was some coffee, and merely brushed it back with his fingers instead of the brush he kept in his coat pocket. Retrieving his car key from his pocket, he started the engine, sighing heavily at the growing pounding in his head.

He drove carefully, the pain in his head getting a little better in the silence. The town was dark, the sidewalks devoid of passers-by and shops lit but vacant of all but employees. Rain had a habit of doing that to South Park. Perhaps it was that fact that it always snowed, so rain was such a bizarre and uncommon occurrence, something terrible was bound to happen, like it always did. At this thought Gregory found himself absent-mindedly hoping that his car wouldn't be crushed by the foot of some huge Mecha-Streisand or carried away by an angry mob with him still in it. To his relief, he managed to get through Main Street with no problems and he turned onto one of the many off streets, the Harbucks sign instantly calming him as it came into sight. He pulled into the small parking lot, recognizing many of the cars present. One of Harbucks's appeals came from the fact that most attendees were regulars. He left his umbrella when he got out, as the rain had died down, and hopped up the curb and to the double doors. When he opened the doors, the bell jingled quietly, the heavy coffee aroma calming his headache, and immediately recognized Tweek Tweak at the register. The blonde twitched as Gregory approached, a tremor making him shake like a leaf in the wind.

"Nnngh., the usual, right?" Tweek asked, looking a tad more relaxed than usual, despite his constant shaking. Gregory couldn't help but smile, the relaxation of being away from that twat Damien and in the quietest, calmest, and safest places in the area settling in. Aside from the conflict that had arisen when it was first built, today it remained the stalwart beacon of sanity in South Park, able to avoid all of the disasters that had befallen since. He nodded, and took a seat in one of the booths next to the front window and, while he waited, watched Tweek do the one thing he was better than anyone else at; making coffee. As usual, Tweek was speedy at what he did, years of practice honing his skills so Gregory didn't have to wait long for his traditional mocha. As Tweek moved around the counter to hand him his coffee, Gregory reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, extracting the $6.75 he'd need to pay. If a Harbucks CEO saw how the Tweak family ran this particular shop, they'd probably have a fit, but the 'pay when you get your order instead of at the register' process worked. Tweek set the hot drink in front of him, and Gregory handed him the money.

Tweek gave him an odd look, then said "Your hair looks terrible. It looks like you were attacked by a curling iron"

Gregory smiled and chuckled a bit, trying to smooth the crazy loose curls out with his hand. "It get's this way when it gets wet." He explained, shrugging.

Tweek gave him a sympathetic look. "At least it's not always like that, like mine…" he said, making a vague gesture at his own hair, which stuck up in every which way. Gregory shrugged again, response cut off when the door swung open and the bell attached to it chimed softly. They looked over at the door, and Gregory recognized Kyle Broflovski and Heidi Turner, both disheveled and wet from the storm outside. When Kyle noticed them he smiled.

"Hey Tweek, Hey Greg." He said congenially. Heidi smiled and nodded.

Gregory smiled despite the use of his name's shortened form, and nodded a hello. Tweek twitched and straightened. "Hey, man." He said to Kyle, then turned and walked back over the counter to take their order. "Welcome to Harbucks, how can I help you?" He asked as he moved to his position behind the register. Heidi wasn't one of the regulars, so he had to go back to protocol.

As he sipped his drink, he watched the couple take their order, and noticed they both had their bags, meaning the two were probably not on a date, and instead studying. He blinked heavily, noticing the background music for the first time, recognizing first that the language sung was not English and instead Japanese, and the voice was achingly familiar. Briefly confused by both of these realizations, he remembered that the Harbucks soundtrack, as it were, had been put together by Park Highs anime club, the members of which included Bebe Stevens, Annie Faulk, Rebecca 'Red' Wilson, and Kevin Stoley – who had achieved this through simple extortion and harassment, mainly performed by Bebe or Red - which explained the Japanese singer. It was peaceful, whatever it was. He yawned and looked out the window. The rain was pounding again, a steady thrumming on the roof and windows that made his head fuzzy and heavy. He folded his arms on the table and put his head down, the warmth that hung in the air and the heat of the coffee encouraging him to just close his eyes for a moment. As he closed them, the piano in the background blended with the sounds of grinding coffee beans and idle chatter, lulling him into sleep.


	2. Chapter II

Perplexing Wonderland

"I think I could, if I only knew how to begin. For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible."  
>— Lewis Carroll<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Two<p>

Gregory awoke to a nudge at his shoulder, the patter of light rainfall, and the sound of a whipped cream dispenser being used. He tried to shake off the offending consciousness, but grudgingly opened his eyes when the hand on his shoulder pushed a little harder. When he leaned up, the world around him was a mahogany blur from the leftover sleep, so he rubbed his eyes, catching the sound of someone slipping into the seat across from him. Blinking blearily, he met the brown eyes of Christophe, who was watching him with a curious expression upon his face. He was, Gregory noticed, for once without a cigarette.

"Did something 'appen?" he asked, accent thick like it usually was.

Gregory shook his head. "No, I must have dozed off." He replied, yawning.

"You seem to be doing zat a lot, lately." Christophe said, expression skeptical.

"I'm fine, I've just been a little stressed, lately, is all." Gregory said, looking away.

Christophe shrugged, leaning back. "Eef you say so…" he looked at him sharply, raising an eyebrow. "And what happened to your 'air? Did Bebe finally talk you into letting her curl it?"

Gregory frowned, and ran a hand through his hair. "It can't possibly be _that_ bad."

"Zat just made it worse." The Frenchman snickered.

Mildly offended, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his brush.

"You still carry zat thing around with you?" His friend asked incredulously, but Gregory ignored him, attempting to brush the irritatingly uncontrollable wave into submission. "You know you're only making it frizzier, right" Christophe pointed out, laughing under his breath.

With a heaving, exasperated breath, he threw down the brush, sending it a sideways look of disapproval, and looked at Christophe, who was trying his best to stifle his laughter. "I suppose it's easy for someone who lives in a tunnel." he commented snarkily, at which the mercenary's grin merely widened.

Christophe stared at him for a few moments, then leaned back and grabbed a large black duffle bag next to him on the seat. Gregory looked over at it curiously, having been unaware of its presence and debating the legality of its contents. As it was Christophe's bag, its cargo could have ranged anywhere from books, to high-level explosives. Christophe unzipped it, reached in, and to Gregory's mild surprise, pulled out a large loaf of bread. Upon noticing Gregory's expression, he smirked. Gregory shook his head a bit, and looked out of the window at the parking lot lit by the white fluorescence of the street lamps, the glass fogged over and emanating a sharp chill.

A comfortable quiet fell over the two, and Gregory leaned back and yawned while Christophe opened the plastic bag of the bread, tearing off a piece and popping it in his mouth. Taking this moment to look around the coffee shop, he noticed that Heidi and Kyle were gone, but that the far corner booth in the back had been occupied by the Goths, whose dark forms were already enshrouded in a thin haze of cigarette smoke. At the register, Bebe and Wendy joked, hair damp and plastic raincoats wet and squeaking while Tweek prepared their drinks. Gregory watched as Bebe pointed up at the ceiling when the songs switched, no doubt explaining to her best friend what the new Japanese song was. When Tweek handed them their cups, Gregory reached for his own, and raised the straw to his lips. When the mocha reached his tongue, he grimaced, finding it utterly cold instead of hot as he had remembered it to be. He swallowed, turning back to Christophe, who was idly watching the girls as they took one of the booths on the stores far right wall. Braving another sip of his beverage, the blonde leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.

"I ran into Damien before I left." he said, swirling his straw in an attempt to mix the chocolate sediment at the bottom off his now room temperature drink.

"Really?" Christophe said, voice implying a lack of real attention.

"Mm hm. He said I had anxiety problems and you were my bitch." Gregory hummed, sipping through the straw and deciding that it didn't taste as bad as he had first thought.

"Eesn't zat what he always says?" Christophe looked over at him, talking through a mouthful of bread. Gregory smiled in response and leaned over the table towards him, reaching over and snatching a large chunk of the mercenary's bread, ignoring the sounds of protest. He took a bite and leaned back, shrugging.

"Basically. But did you know he has a pet?" Gregory waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially, noticing as he chewed the heavy taste of rosemary.

Christophe reached over and grabbed his companions coffee cup, taking a sip from it before replying. "Really? What is it, a cat?" Gregory smirked at the indistinct jab at the medieval belief that cats served Satan, a belief that still prevailed in the Frenchman's mother, however misconstrued it was toward felines.

"No, it's an Australian marsupial called a Sugar Glider." At Christophe's incredulous expression, he clarified. "It's like a chipmunk crossed with a flying squirrel. He keeps it in his pocket."

Christophe's chewing halted for a few good seconds. He blinked at him, then swallowed, handing him the mocha. "Really?"

"Yep." Gregory's smile widened as he took the cup. "Who would've thought that the Antichrist would be into fuzzy little marsupials?" He brought the straw to his mouth and took a long drink, before cringing in bemusement at the taste blending of mocha and rosemary. He coughed a bit as his mild alarm caused the coffee to fall down his windpipe, then continued the conversation. "I think he tried to threaten me into silence when I left, though." he managed to say between coughs.

At this Christophe's expression darkened a bit. "'Ow so?"

Gregory shrugged. "It was just a dizzy spell. The hallway warped and I got a slight headache, but it went away." he said, dismissively taking off the cap of his drink and setting it on a stack of napkins next to him on the table. "You know how he's an ass about stuff like this. When Bradley saw him trip over the janitor's broom, he made him see spiders for a week."

Christophe sniffed, disdain for Bradley obvious. "The beetch deserved it." He took another bite of the loaf, watching amusedly as Gregory tried dipping the bread in the chocolate-permeated liquid. The Englishman's expression scrunched up when he took a bite, but, then he tilted his head a bit, and took another bite.

"It's not that bad." Gregory said, referring to the coffee dipped bread.

"You have zee most hideous sense of taste."

"Hm, and you always drown things in barbecue sauce and mustard."

"Beetch."

"I believe it's properly pronounced 'bitch'."

Christophe snorted and indignantly taking a large bite of his bread loaf, turning stubbornly away.

Gregory rolled his eyes at the behavior. "Oh please, stop acting like a five-year-old and _taste_ it. It's better than you think." he scoffed, shoving the cup forward. When Christophe still kept his gaze averted, Gregory groaned. "I swear, you're worse than Craig's sister."

As expected, the statement made the Mole look at him. "'Ow would you know Craig's sister?" he snapped accusedly, pride no doubt bruised at the comparison.

Gregory peered surreptitiously over the last piece of coffee drenched bread that he was nibbling. "I babysat her for a week or so at the beginning of junior year." he said. "I'm surprised you don't remember."

"How am I supposed to remember something like zat?" Christophe grumbled through a large mouthful of bread. "Besides, why would you want to babysit a sniveling brat, anyway?"

"I was partners with him in Chemistry that year, and he covered for me whenever I wasn't there. I owed him something in return." Gregory explained, licking the coffee off of his fingers. "And she wasn't a brat, she was actually quite polite, if you don't count her flipping you off every ten seconds."

Christophe grunted in response, and Gregory looked at him and held out the cup again. With a scowl, the chain-smoker tore a piece off of his loaf and dipped it into the dark fluid. He looked at the piece of soaked bread for a moment, then popped it into his mouth, grudgingly chewing. He kept chewing slowly, expression unreadable, and Gregory's keen gaze upon him. Christophe kept his eyes on the table, and finally swallowed. He was silent for a long moment, and then averted his eyes sideways. "It was alright." he mumbled, and Gregory grinned satisfactorily, leaning back.

"I told you." he stated matter of factly. "Why is it that everytime I ask you to try something you act like I'm trying to poison you…" he trailed off as headlights veered towards the front windows of the store, spotlighting them. Across from him, he felt Christophe tense and slip a hand into his thick jacket. The car pulled into the parking space directly in front of them, and the two squinted in the bright glare suddenly set upon them. The lights switched off, and through the brilliant afterglow on his retinas, Gregory recognized the large shape of Eric Cartman get out of the drivers' side of the car. The large senior slammed the door, and trudged to the entrance of the café, seemingly ignoring the other three people exiting the vehicle. Gregory watched with mild amusement, albeit with slightly sore eyes as well, the group make their way to Harbucks entrance, slamming open the door and letting it swing shut loudly in their wake, the attached bell jingling in a wild panic. The three companions were Stan Marsh, a bored, vaguely irritated expression on his face, Kenny McCormick, expression hidden behind a hideously bright orange scarf wrapped around the bottom half of his face, and Kyle Broflovski, who looked nothing short of furious.

"I don't think you understand, Kahl, coffee is the secret to that $10,000 we've been trying to make our whole lives." Eric was saying, making sweeping arm gestures as he made his case. Gregory took a swig out of his coffee cup, smiling as he watched the events unfold.

"I don't see how selling coffee mixed with narcotics is a good idea!" Kyle cried, trailing close behind the fatass with a wild look in his eyes.

Eric stopped at the counter, oblivious to Tweek's terrified expression, and looked back at the redhead. "You see, Kahl, we have to make sure they keep buying the coffee, so we load it with narcotics so they get addicted. It's how business works!" He seemed to misunderstand, just as he always did, the moral implications of his plan.

"And you don't see anything wrong with selling people a product that will hook them for life?" Kyle recoiled, disgusted.

"NO KYLE. The tobacco industry does it all the time! And so does pharmaceuticals! It's how you make money." Eric tried to explain, waving his arms exasperatedly. In response, the Jew shook his head disbelievingly. Eric huffed, and turned to Tweek. "Listen, Tweek, the four of us," – he gestured to his disinterested companions – "have a plan that will make all of us very, very rich. Do you know what that plan is, Tweek?"

"Ngngh… Is it selling coffee laced with narcotics?" Tweek asked, clutching his shirt painfully.

"Exactly! See, Kahl, Tweek knows what I'm talking about!" Eric said as he looked over his shoulder at the smaller boy. He looked back over at the blonde behind the register. "So, will you help us, Tweek?"

Tweek shook his head crazily. "No way, m-man. If people found out, they'd come after us, and then we'd be chased by an angry mob, and my parents, man! They'd sell me into slavery for being a disappointment, and I'd end up a sex slave to some East Indian dictator, and he'd force me to perform on some shady sex tape, and everyone would know who I was, and the CIA would come hunt me down for being a traitor to my country, and then the gnomes, the GNOMES, man!" he clutched at his hair, hyperventilating.

"Dude, Tweek, calm down. You don't have to help Cartman." Stan said, looking over at the gasping blonde with something akin to pity. Eric rounded on him furiously.

"Not help us? _Not help us_? Are you out of your fucking _mind_? We have to have Tweek help us because he's the only one who knows how to hide the taste of methamphetamine!" He jabbed a finger at the panicking blonde. "How else are we supposed to make sure no one figures us out?"

"And where are we supposed to find methamphetamine to put into the coffee, huh? Have you even thought of that?" Kyle exclaimed, voice shrill.

"Kenny's poor, he knows how to make it! Isn't that right, Kenny?" he looked over at the blonde, who was reaching over the counter to comfort Tweek. Kenny looked over through his bangs and muffled out a distinguishable 'fuck you, fatass.'

Stan deadpanned. "Just because Kenny's poor doesn't mean he knows how to make meth, Cartman." he said.

Christophe leaned forward on the table. "Why do I 'ave a feeling we're going to be dragged into zis?" he whispered. As if on cue, Eric did a quick scan around the store, expression desperate. When he saw them, his eyes lit up, and the pair watched him warily as Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Greg! Chris! Listen, how would you like to make $10,000?" he asked, jogging over to them. Gregory heard Christophe hiss at the shortened form of his name, and glanced over at him, before looking back at the large bodied brunette standing over them. Eric stared at them, and after a moment, Gregory realized he was waiting for a response.

"How?" he asked, hoping Christophe didn't lose his temper before they could get out of the coffee shop. Eric grinned in relief and immediately launched into a detailed explanation.

"You see, you know how over fifty percent of Americans drink coffee daily?" he said, staring expectantly at the two Europeans. They stared back, and after a moment of silence, he went on. "That's over one hundred and sixty _million_ people. Now, if each of them bought a cup of coffee for three dollars, that's over four hundred and sixty million dollars in _one day_! And if they all bought the same brand of coffee, whoever owned that coffee would be a trillionaire in just _four days_. Now how do you get every coffee drinker in America to drink that one brand of coffee? You make it the most delicious coffee they'd ever tasted. But more importantly, you make it addictive so that they keep on drinking it even if they don't like it! And what's the easiest to obtain substance that will hook you the first time?" he paused again, and Gregory could practically see him bristling with excitement. "Narcotics, you see? Narcotics," He put his hands out, palms up, voice softer. "If we sell coffee laced with narcotics and market it as the most delicious coffee out there, all seven of us will each be able to make," he stopped, and pulled a calculator out of his jacket pocket. He jabbed in a bunch of numbers, and then looked up at them again. "Almost $70,000 in one day, just _one day_, you guys!" His voice got a pleading tone to it, and Gregory looked over at Christophe, noticing his wary expression had given way to a more curious one, tempted by the amount of money, no doubt. He looked at Eric carefully.

"And how do you plan to make sure no one finds out about the narcotics?" he asked slowly.

Eric grinned and sighed in relief. "That's where Tweek comes in. He's an expert on coffee, so he'll be able to make sure the meth high and the average caffeine high match, as well as make sure the taste is indistinguishable from your average coffee! It's genius, right?"

Gregory licked his lips as he thought about it. "And how will you know how much methamphetamine equals an average caffeine high?"

"Kenny will make sure of that, right, Kenny?" he looked back at Kenny, who's expression twisted in confusion.

Their attention was drawn to the Frenchman as he abruptly spoke. "'Ow do we make sure everyone get's an equal share of zee money?" he asked, and the room went still, all eyes suddenly on Eric. The Nazi swelled with an uneasy air of false confidence.

"Of course everyone will get an equal share!" he said loudly, hands on his hips, eyes jumping from face to face. "Since when have I ever lied to you guys?"

Harbucks went forthwithly silent, any faith Eric might've built up with his previous speech slipping through his pudgy fingers as every time they'd ever been deceived by him ran through his audiences minds. He spun around, panicking. "Listen, whatever happened before, it's in the past now, you gahs. I swear this time I mean it!" he pleaded trying to sway his listeners in his favor once again. He was ignored.

As Eric tried to gain the upper hand over everyone's minds once again, Gregory looked away, drinking some more of his tepid mocha. He met eyes with Christophe, and shrugged. Christophe took a bite of his bread, and the hushed chatter of the coffee drinkers once again filled the store, Eric's arguments quieting as attention toward him dissipated.

"I don't think this is the end of his plan." Gregory said quietly, watching the group pay for their coffee, Eric sulking off to the side, shoulders slumped.

"Of course not, 'as anyzing happened zis week?" Christophe replied, giving him a skeptical look. After living their whole lives in South Park, it was hard to find the idea surprising.

Gregory sighed. "I just hope they leave us out of it this time." he complained, tilting his head from side to side.

"Doubtful." Christophe said through chews.

Gregory watched him through half lidded eyes, wondering if he had always been as far away as he seemed to be now. "You're probably right." he murmured, picking up the lid and straw of his cup and putting it back in its place on his cup. He took a sip through the straw, noticing the sounds that were accompanying his actions seemed far too loud. He ignored his observation.

The two of them sat in silence, the chatter around them occasionally broken by short, querulous statements in the far right corner of the shop, where Eric had set up his groups table, or by the girlish laughter of Bebe or Wendy. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted through the store, the mist surrounding the Goths spreading to the other parts of the building. The world outside of the store was lit only by amber colored streetlamps, shop windows, and the occasional flash of lightning; the shimmering roads were eerily quiet, the sky a pitch black that swallowed rooftops. Gregory felt that the buildings were seemingly taller, darker, than they should be, but wrote it off to a trick of the light. He tilted his head left, his neck rustling as he did so. He blinked at the sound, and tilted his head back up again. It rustled, like someone stepping through dead leaves, so he looked at Christophe. The mercenary yawned and looked back at him. Gregory tilted his head right, hearing more rustling, and the brunette stared at him in confusion.

"Eez... Something wrong?"

Gregory was careful with his answer, slowly tilting his head upright. "No, I'm fine, it's just sleeping on the table made my neck sore, that's all."

Christophe watched him with narrowed eyes. "Eef you say so."

Gregory kept his eyes trained on the streetlamp outside, but jumped when a hand tapped his shoulder, and looked over to see Wendy. Bebe sidled up next to her, patting Christophe's head as she did so, blonde curls bouncing as she laughed at his disgruntled reaction. He noticed Eric and his group slipping out of the door behind them.

"You boys doing anything tonight?" Bebe asked. Christophe and Gregory looked at each other. "The anime club is having a get together, and we'd like you to come."

"I'm not sure it's our sort of thing." Gregory said, glancing at his companion, only to see him looking up at Bebe with his full attention. He frowned.

"Are you sure? We're going to have a big dinner and watch some movies." Wendy chimed in. "Kevin and Jimmy are going to be there."

"Craig and the guys are coming, too." Bebe added, and Wendy looked at her funny.

"I thought they said no?" she asked.

"They did, but once Tweek heard we were showing the Ghost in the Shell movie, then they changed their minds. You know how you can't say no to Tweek." Bebe explained, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. The headlights of Eric's car lit the girls up briefly, before it backed up and out of the parking lot, and Bebe looked at Gregory, then Christophe, then back again. "Sooooo, you guys game, or what?"

Gregory looked at Christophe speculatively, raising his eyebrows. Christophe looked up at them. "Will you be serving any type of bread?" he asked.

Bebe grinned, and the girls linked arms. "Are you kidding, Chris? We're going to be serving so much bread, it'll be flying out of your nose." Bebe was the only person Gregory knew other than himself that Christophe would tolerate shortening his name.

Christophe looked back at Gregory, a smile twitching the corners of his lips. "I suppose we could stop by, then, if it's not too much trouble." Gregory said, looking up at the two of them.

"So it's a deal. Be at my house at 7:45." Wendy said.

"And don't be late!" Bebe scolded, shooting them a thumbs up as they left and the two boys watched them swing open the double doors and skip back to Wendy's car, laughing.

"Christophe?"

The smoker grunted in response, zipping up the duffel bag.

"If we were girls, would we be anything like that?" Gregory asked, staring out the window.

Christophe stared at him, and then looked out the window at Wendy and Bebe, who were stumbling around like idiots and chasing each other around the rainy parking lot, giggling their heads off. As they watched, Wendy slipped in a puddle and fell on her face, and Bebe waggled her butt at her, hands on her hips. "I 'ope not."

They looked at each other and smiled. Gregory thought that Christophe looked smaller than normal, and looked down at his watch. The second hand spun at a crazy rate, and he blinked. It was 7:21.

"We should probably leave in a few minutes. It's seven twenty." he said, tightening his gloves and looking around the store. Christophe followed suit, slipping the duffel bag's strap around his torso. They stood up, and Gregory tossed the empty coffee cup into the trash can behind his seat. As they moved to exit the store, Tweek walked up and handed them two cups of coffee, a Mocha for Gregory, and a Caramel for Christophe.

"It's on the house. No paying." Tweek said, shaking his head fervently as they went to grab some money. "It's a thanks for making Eric give up."

Gregory gave him a look. "He's not..."

"I know, but now that I know what he wants, I can ignore him." The blonde explained, shivering. He glanced at the clock. "But if you don't leave now, you'll be late." he said, pushing them out the door.

"Won't you be late?" Christophe asked , looking over his shoulder at the frail coffee addict pushing him outside.

"I have to wait for Token to pick me up."he answered, pushing them out the door with one final shove. "I'll see you guys later tonight." he said peeking out of the door at them.

"We'll see you then, Tweek." Gregory nodded. The action made a rustling sound. He straightened his trench coat to cover his confusion, and swayed a bit, perplexed by how large the door seemed compared to Tweek. He swallowed. Tweek smiled back at him and slipped back into Harbucks. As he turned toward his car, he noticed Christophe looking at him strangely, and smiled at him, shrugging. Christophe frowned, but followed him, having taken the parking spot next to his. With a wave of uneasiness, he stared at Christophe's cars large wheels, wondering when and how they had gotten that big. When he reached his door, Christophe touched his arm softly.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, brown eyes a bit wider than normal. "You've gotten really pale."

"Headache." The lie was smooth, automatic. He smiled crookedly as he said it, shrugging, and hoped it didn't look as fake as it felt.

"You've been getting zem a lot more often..." Christophe said slowly, eyes watching him carefully. He lifted an arm and put his fingertips to the blondes forehead. "Get eet checked out. I don't want you to die of brain cancer."

At this Gregory actually laughed, gently batting the arm away. "I doubt I have brain cancer. It's just a migraine. They run in my family." he reassured his best friend, ignoring the twinge of doubt he felt towards his own words.

Christophe smiled slightly in response, though the concern was still reflected in his eyes. "You sure you can make eet to Wendy's on your own with zat 'migraine'?" he joked, pulling a package of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and raising an eyebrow at him.

Gregory smirked. "I don't know, are you sure you can survive above ground?" He opened his door and met Christophe's eyes. "I'm fine, really. I've just been a bit disoriented. If it is anything, it's probably Damien's work, anyway."

The mercenary watched him keenly over his lighter, and as the cigarette lit, blew out a thin line of smoke. "Eef you say so." he agreed, and shuffled around his car to the drivers side. "Be careful." He called as he got in. Gregory waited until he had driven away to get in his car, waving at the receding vehicle. For a long moment he stood there, door open, leaning against the cars side. After a deep breath he got in and sat down, putting his mocha in the cup holder and leaning his head against his steering wheel. The vehicles interior seemed to grow and dwarf him, and he tried to block out the feeling of smallness by pressing his head against his steering wheel as hard as he could. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to swallow the swirling disorientation that threatened to send him into a panic. Slowly, the feeling ebbed away, and he relaxed, opening his eyes. The wheel was back to normal. He looked up at the front of the coffee shop. The front doors were the right size again, his car cab returned to its correct proportions. Knuckles white in a death grip on his steering wheel, he took a deep breath, and pulled his car into reverse.

* * *

><p><em>Ok, well this is Chapter Two, and I sincerely apologize for the length of time that lapsed between the first and this one.<em>_ My home life got a bit frantic, but the third chapter shouldn't have over a months wait before being uploaded, and I should be able to finish it in the next week or so. My family happens to be in the midst of moving, currently, and finding time to seriously type is a bit difficult. I greatly apologize for this inconvenience, however, and will attempt to make future updates more often.  
><em>

_I would also like to point out that this will not be based on the Alice in Wonderland books or movies, but instead more on the disorder that is Alice in Wonderland Syndrome. I may, for fun, add some similarities, because it really would be ridiculous to pass up an opportunity to write things so bizarre, but it will not be a rewrite of any of Lewis Carroll's books_

_A very wonderful Fourth of July to those USA readers out there, also, and before I forget, MariePierre, I tried to divide my paragraphs a bit more to make it seem less wordy. I notice I tend to do that... I am glad you liked it, however.  
><em>

_Over and Out,  
><em>

_Ffion Eirlys _


End file.
